


The Aftermath

by KrazyPerson6



Series: Trials and Tribulations [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Guns, Knives, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Revenge, Self Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, it's still quite slowburn though, they gotta work some things out first, this actually will be GerIta in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-03-08 18:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyPerson6/pseuds/KrazyPerson6
Summary: It's six months after the ill-fated trip to Canada that resulted in Italy being tortured and raped by Russia. Russia is no where to be found, but Italy is slowly recovering. Italy and Germany slowly grow even closer and Italy opens up about what happened and shares his feelings of inadequacy.Prussia and Romano are insistent to know what happened since no one will tell them and they question the only eye witness, America. The three of them team up to get revenge, but will getting back at the Russian really solve anything?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never intended to write a sequel to The Ski Trip, I just kept having so many ideas in my head about what might happen that they formed themselves into an actual story and here we are. Won't be quite as dark...at first. This is me after all.

_Italy let out an eardrum shattering scream, thrashing about violently, struggling desperately to escape. It was happening again. How was it even possible that it was happening again? Russia had his large hands on his body again, pinning him to the ground, feeling the auburn-haired nation all over. He was pulling Italy's clothes off, positioning himself above his victim's backside and thrusting inside roughly._

“Italy, it’s just a dream! Wake up, you’re safe,” Germany called out to him, afraid to touch him for fear of setting him off even more harshly.

It was summer now, six months after their ill-fated ski trip to Canada that had resulted in Italy being savagely tortured, raped twice, and eventually killed by Russia. No one knew why the secretive country had done what he did to Italy. In fact, he had gone into hiding since the event and no one had seen or heard anything about his whereabouts.

Even though it had been half a year since the attack, Italy was still having almost nightly dreams about it. They varied in intensity, sometimes only causing him to groan and toss in his sleep, other times, like tonight, it caused him a full out anxiety attack. Even in the light of day he was incredibly jumpy, the smallest things could set him off. His physical wounds had long since healed, but the mental and emotional ones would take much more time.

Germany had taken to sleeping with Italy ever night. He was awkward and shy about it at first, but Italy always somehow ended up in his bed anyway, so why bother trying to stop the inevitable? Italy was staying at Germany’s home; he was still far too scared to stay by himself in his own country.

Italy stuck to Germany constantly. The only time they were apart was to bathe. While Italy usually wouldn’t have cared if anyone saw him in the nude, especially a close, trusted friend like Germany, after the attack he was suddenly shy about it. It left him vulnerable, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not that it had even crossed his mind that Germany would ever hurt him. Sometimes though, when he wasn’t entirely focused on what was really in front of him and he was lost in his own dark thoughts, Germany’s tall form scared him. He wasn’t quite as tall as Russia, but he was blond and broad-shouldered like Russia, and it would put Italy into a momentary panic until he realized who it really was.

Most days he seemed almost back to normal. He’d turned Germany’s kitchen into an Italian food explosion, with ingredients for various kinds of pasta dishes, pizzas, and desserts everywhere. Despite their unordered appearance, Italy knew exactly where everything was and Germany couldn’t move anything without Italy knowing about it. One would think with all that food Italy would be growing fat, but it was quite the opposite. He was cooking up a storm, but he barely ate any of it himself. He had visibly lost weight. Germany wanted to ask him about it but he already knew the answer. Russia had messed him up so badly it had thrown his entire life off.

Germany couldn’t possibly eat all the food Italy made himself and he couldn’t stand to see perfectly good, and quite delicious, food go to waste so he had taken to giving it away to random people. His human neighbors must think him quite odd for showing up from time to time to offer them Italian foods.

“G-Germany?” Italy asked shakily into the dark. His hands searched for the other country, only stopping when he felt the familiar touch of his muscular arms.

Now that it was apparent from Italy reaching out for him first, Germany knew it was safe to touch him. He switched on the lamp on the nightstand so Italy could see him clearly. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe.” He pulled the smaller man into a hug, gently holding him until he stopped shaking. It seemed to be the only thing that would help to calm him down.

Italy let out a sigh of relief when he saw for certain who was next to him. He pressed his head against Germany’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Germany was a solid, unwavering presence he had taken to relying on probably a little more than was healthy. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten sick and tired of how clingy Italy was and abandoned him. It was a constant, nagging fear that kept eating away at the back of Italy’s mind. He wasn’t sure he could survive if Germany left him.

***

The next day Japan paid them a visit. It had been awhile since the three friends had seen each other. With Japan living so much farther away than Italy and Germany did from each other he didn’t often get the chance to. They chatted about casual things like the weather and how their favorite sports teams were doing until Italy noticed that they didn’t have tea and went to go make some for them.

As soon as he had left the room, Japan turned to Germany with an even more serious expression than normal. “How is he doing?” He didn’t want to ask while Italy was in the room. Italy was getting very tired of everyone asking how he was all the time. They hadn’t told anyone who wasn’t on the trip with them what had happened to Italy, but everyone else noticed that something was off. Romano had gotten especially upset when his own brother wouldn’t tell him what was going on. Being part of the same country he had of course felt that Italy was in pain, but with the distance they were apart when it happened he didn’t know the extent of it.

Germany paused before replying. “He’s doing...better.” It was true that Italy wasn’t as bad as he had been, but he definitely wasn’t entirely back to his old self.

“I see. Then how are you? Not to be rude, but you’ve looked better.” Japan had noticed right away that Germany looked incredibly tired and worn down. He could use a break from his constant care of Italy. “How about I take Italy to my place for a few days? Maybe a week, we’ll see how things go.”

Germany didn’t want to admit outloud how taxing always being around Italy and worrying about him was. It would honestly be such a relief to have some time alone. “Ja, that sounds like it would be okay. As long as Italy wants to that is.” He wouldn’t insist that Italy left unless he felt he was ready.

“What do I want to do?” Italy stood in the doorway to the living room, trying to balance a tray with three cups of tea in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other. He had heard what they had said before, the kitchen was only in the next room, but he tried to hide that fact and pretend he had only heard the last part. The old fear crept up on him again. Germany wanted him gone. He was just a burden.

Germany quickly stood and took the tray of tea from Italy before he dropped it all over the floor. “Oh, Japan was just wondering if you wanted to stay with him for awhile. You know, for a change of scenery.”

“It has been a long time since I visited,” Italy plastered a smile on his face. “Okay, a trip to Japan sounds like fun!”

Maybe it would be, Italy had barely left Germany’s house since they had gotten back. The only time he had gone outside was to play with Germany’s dogs, and only in broad daylight with Germany close by. Germany did have to leave him alone a few times a month to go shopping for groceries. Whenever he did Italy would triple check all the locks in the house and keep Germany’s biggest dog next to him, a German Shepherd that was very well trained and intimidating looking but who loved Italy and drowned him in dog kisses if he let him. It wasn’t like he snuck him food under the table when Germany wasn’t looking or anything.

Japan stayed the night and was showered with copious amounts of food that Italy kept piling on his plate at dinner. It would be rude to refuse so he kept eating until he was fit to burst, finally being saved when Germany suggested they retire for the night.

“But what about dessert, no?” Italy asked. No meal was complete without dessert.

“We had those Sfogliatella with tea only two hours ago, Italy. Unless you want to have some, Japan and I are quite full.” Germany had noticed that while Italy was stuffing Japan, he didn’t eat much himself. He’d be happy to see Italy eat anything at this point, even if it was just sweets. It was very unlike him to starve himself.

“I’m not really hungry,” Italy said tiredly. It was true, he barely had an appetite and everything, even his favorite foods, just didn’t taste good to him.

“Are you sure? You barely touched your food. Do you have a stomachache? Do you need some medicine?” Germany fussed over Italy. He was still trying to do anything he could to care for the smaller country. Even though he was trying not to, he still felt like it was his fault that the attack had happened at all.

“No, I’m fine. Just tired is all. Bed does sound good.” Italy put the dishes in the sink and headed to Germany’s bedroom. He barely had any energy anymore and he slept a lot of the time. Not that it was very restful, with all the nightmares.

***

The next day Germany saw the two off as they traveled to Japan. Italy didn’t stray more than three feet from Japan the whole trip and ended up stepping on his feet a few times. He was so nervous. It was the first time he had been with people, other than Germany, in half a year. It was terrifying. People everywhere he looked, and each one capable of causing him unimaginable pain.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived at Japan’s very traditional Japanese style home. He was so eager to get inside as quickly as possible that he almost forget to take his shoes off before stepping onto the tatami mats.

Once inside he wandered through the house, marveling at how beautiful and different everything looked, nothing like the western style homes he was used to. He made his way to the back of the house and out onto the porch. He sat on the edge and dangled his sock-clad feet out over the lawn. Japan had a garden in his backyard with a small koi pond and a stunningly red Japanese maple tree.

Italy closed his eyes, letting the warm summer breeze gently hit his face and blow through his hair. It was so calming here. He could almost forget about all his worries and relax. Maybe Germany was right; a change of scenery was good for him.

He found himself drifting off to sleep. He tried to stay awake, but he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in so long, being plagued by so many nightmares, that he couldn’t keep his eyes open and was soon lying down on Japan’s back porch, fast asleep.

***

_“You’re so useless, you can’t do anything right. Why don’t you just get lost? Or even better, just die. You’re good at that. I never want to see you again,” Germany said, roughly shoving Italy away and turning his back to him._

_“No, but, Germany, I thought you-” Italy stumbled and barely kept his balance after Germany’s shove._

_“What, you thought I actually cared about you? Think again. You’re pathetic. Still bellyaching about what Russia did to you. You deserved that, you had it coming. You’re so weak and stupid. You disgust me.” The blond man walked away, not looking back around or heeding any of Italy’s pleas for him to come back._

_Italy fell to his knees, face buried in his hands, tears flowing freely from his eyes. It had finally happened. His worst nightmare. Being left all alone. Germany leaving him._

“Italy, please wake up, you’ll catch cold if you sleep out here,” Japan gently shook Italy to wake him.

Italy woke with a start. It was just a dream. A horrible one, but just a dream. One he’d never had before. It was the first time he’d had one that didn’t involve Russia torturing or raping him again. Somehow it was even worse. Germany wouldn’t really leave him, would he? There was no way he’d say all those harsh things either. Even though Italy kept thinking them about himself all the time, no matter how many times he tried to stay positive.

Italy quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, hoping that Japan hadn't noticed them in the dark, and followed him back inside the house. Normally Japan would have given Italy his own private room to sleep in, but he knew about how he had been sleeping with Germany and thought it best to set up a futon in his own room for his guest. He wasn’t quite comfortable enough to let Italy sleep with him, but having him in the same room should calm his fears about being alone.

At first Italy did sleep by himself. Not too long into the night Japan found him crawling onto his futon and under the covers next to him though. “I’m sorry, Japan, I’m probably making you uncomfortable, but I need this.” Italy pressed himself against the smaller man’s back, seeking the touch of someone he trusted to keep him safe. He felt Japan’s shoulders stiffen, but he didn’t protest or kick him out and he soon relaxed and fell asleep again. For the first time in a very long time, Italy fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

“Hmm, Germany, you forgot to put the dog to bed again, didn’t you?” Italy felt a wet dog tongue licking his face and opened one eye. He had expected to find the big German Shepherd looming over him and giving him a tongue bath, but instead found Japan’s fluffy white dog, Pochi, standing over him. Oh right, he was visiting Japan right now.

“Hey, buddy, I haven’t seen you in forever, how are you even still alive?” Italy petted the dog’s fur enthusiastically, making it an utter mess but causing the dog to wiggle and bark happily. He was pretty sure the dog was somehow also immortal like he and all the other nations of the world. How else would Japan still have the same dog he had back during WWII in 2019? Unless Japan kept getting identical dogs and naming them the same thing. Both were mildly creepy thoughts.

Italy gave the dog one last pet before standing up. Japan wasn’t in the room anymore. He was an early riser, unlike Italy who would easily sleep until noon if you let him. Or at least he used to. He slept so lightly now for fear of someone attacking him in his sleep that as soon as Germany got up he followed him. Last night he had slept very soundly and hadn’t heard or felt Japan get up at all.

He had not bothered to change last night and was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing yesterday. He found the bag he had packed for the trip by what was supposed to be his futon. After finding Japan’s bathroom and figuring out how to use the shower, which was always an adventure as everyone’s was slightly different, he got dressed.

Japan was in the kitchen in the process of making breakfast. “Good morning, Italy. I hope you slept well?” Japan had not. Italy held onto him all night and snored like a freight train. How did Germany handle it?

“Good morning. I did actually,” Italy smiled genuinely. He felt more rested than he had been in months.

The two ate breakfast in peaceful silence, Italy eating far more than he had in months. This trip had already been better than he could have hoped for. Japan kept refilling Italy’s bowl of rice, surprised that he kept eating even after the fifth one. Germany would be thrilled to hear that he was actually eating.

After breakfast they played a friendly game of Go. Japan went easy on Italy the first time since he was a beginner and Italy managed to win, but for the second game Japan utterly destroyed him. Japan started to doze off after they were done playing. He was very tired after barely any sleep the night before. He pulled off the outer layer of his kimono. It wasn’t even noon yet and it was already swelteringly hot and would only get hotter.

Italy wandered off to the backyard, Pochi following at his heels. He stared up into the branches of the Japanese maple and had just spotted a bird in a nest who was glaring at him suspiciously as she guarded her eggs, when suddenly a large, strong hand landed on his shoulder. He froze in fear.

“Hey, Italy! There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you, little guy!” Prussia stood over Italy, patting his shoulder in what he thought was a friendly gesture, but really he was scaring Italy half to death.

Italy took a step back, he hadn’t seen Prussia in six months. Prussia did live with his younger brother Germany, but he had pestered both Italy and Germany so much to tell him what had happened in Canada that it had lead to a fight between the brothers. They had had a loud screaming match in full German that fell just short of a fist fight that had scared Italy so much he hid under his own bed for hours. After that Germany had kicked Prussia out. He left saying that they weren’t awesome enough to have him around anyway, and went to stay with Spain.

Prussia followed Italy when he took his step back. He didn’t see the ornamental rock in the lawn right in front of him and tripped over it, falling straight on Italy and pinning him to the grass.

Italy screamed at the top of his lungs and flailed his arms around. “No! Stop!” He beat at the albino’s chest, pure terror coursing through him.

“Wow, calm down, it was an accident. No need to cry bloody murder,” Prussia muttered, having trouble disentangling himself from Italy’s limbs.

Japan had of course heard Italy’s scream and had come running at full speed, pausing only a moment to grab a katana. He now found Prussia on top of Italy in the lawn, and his mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario.

“Stand up very slowly,” Japan commanded in a steady voice. He brandished the sword at the taller man who was completely unexpected and certainly not invited.

Prussia had gotten his long legs untangled from Italy and turned around. Seeing that Japan had a weapon pointed at him, he did exactly what he was told. “Whoa, Japan, what’s that for? I was just trying to talk to Italy.”

Japan tilted his head to the side, questionly. “And this required pinning him to the ground?” He took a step towards Prussia, backing him up against the trunk of the Japanese maple.

“What? No, I tripped and fell on him. It was an accident, honest.” Prussia was sweating from more than just the summer heat. Japan was legendary for his skill with a katana and he really didn’t fancy getting sliced to pieces.

Japan wasn’t sure he believed the often times devious man, but he had more important things to tend to. Italy was curled into a tight ball in the grass, his hands over his head and his eyes squeezed shut. He was rocking back and forth, muttering something unintelligible to himself.

"What's wrong with him? I couldn't have possibly scared him that badly." Prussia's red eyes showed concern.

"It is not my place to tell you about that. Italy needs to do that himself." Japan saw that Prussia really didn't mean any harm and he sheathed his sword.

"It's been six months and no one will tell me a fucking thing! This shit's been driving me crazy, just tell me what happened." Prussia took a step towards Italy but was stopped by a glare from Japan.

"Don't touch him," Japan warned, a hand on the hilt of his katana.

"Ugh, fine, just leave me in the dark forever why don't you." Prussia saw that he wasn't going to get any new information out of Japan or Italy so he left. He scurried over the fence surrounding Japan's home like some kind of pale spider monkey.

Prussia headed away from Japan’s home, stomping his feet angrily and muttering obscenities under his breath. The humans he came across gave the strange-looking foreigner a wide berth, not wanting to get in his way.

He’d been trying all these months to get someone to tell him what happened to Italy. When he’d talked to China and England they had gotten mad at him and told him it was none of his damn business. France and Canada had just looked very sad but also wouldn’t tell him anything, giving him the same bullshit that Japan had just given him that Italy needed to tell him himself. The problem was that Italy wouldn’t talk about it, at all. Germany was so protective of Italy he wouldn’t say anything either, not even to his own brother.

Prussia wouldn’t confess the fact to another living soul, but he’d had a rather big crush on Italy some time ago. He had even asked him out once, but it had completely flown over Italy’s head and he hadn’t noticed. Now he wasn’t really sure if it was a romantic attraction or just that he was really very lonely. He wanted friends, and Italy had an infectiously cheerful personality that put everyone around him in a good mood. Or at least he used to. Something had stolen the happiness from Italy and Prussia was bound and determined to come to the bottom of it.

He decided then and there that he was going to confront his brother and make him tell him what happened, even if he had to physically force it out of him. He just couldn’t rest until he knew the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

Japan was very worried about Italy. He still hadn’t uncurled from the ball he had made himself into after Prussia had unintentionally scared him. It had been over an hour and he was about to call Germany and see if he could offer any advice on how to get him to snap out of it. He had already tried gently poking him and lightly slapping him, but nothing worked. This time it looked like he had completely retreated inside his own mind.

Japan carried Italy inside the house so he wouldn’t get sunburned and picked up his cell phone. “Hello, Germany, Italy just got worse.” He recounted to Germany what had just happened.

Germany pulled the phone away from his mouth before shouting, "Mein idiotische Bruder!”

Even though he hadn’t shouted straight into the receiver, Japan still winced at the volume and anger of Germany’s voice. “I’m quite certain he didn’t mean anything by it, but still, I can’t get Italy to come back to us. And he was doing so well.” Japan told Germany about how he had actually slept and eaten well.

Germany kneaded his brow with one hand. “Do you need me to come over there?” He really had no clue how to get Italy to come back to his senses, but sometimes just being near him seemed to work. They had known each other for over a century and there was a strong bond between them.

“Ah, I really don’t want to inconvenience you,” Japan said. Germany had just barely had 24 hours to himself and Japan really didn’t want to interrupt it unless it was absolutely necessary. “Has Italy done this before? He’s sure to come out of it himself eventually, right?”

“Well, mostly it’s nightmares. Sometimes his eyes will glaze over and he’ll not really see what’s in front of him, but no, he’s snapped out of it pretty quickly every time before. I need to have a word with mein Bruder though.” What was he thinking, going after Italy like that?

“Please remember that Prussia-san doesn’t know what happened to Italy. That was why he was here, he was trying to ask Italy.”

“Does he really want to know that badly?” Maybe he should have just told him the whole story from the beginning. Germany thought he was protecting Italy by not telling anyone and making his horrible experience the thing of gossip, but his eccentric brother was beyond insistent.

Japan looked over at where he had set Italy on the floor and saw that he was starting to stir. “Good knews, it looks like Italy is waking up. I’ll let you know if anything has changed. Sorry for bothering you.” He hung up the phone before Germany could say that his call wasn’t a bother, that he was glad to be informed about how Italy was doing.

***

Prussia was in the woods surrounding his brother’s home. Germany lived in a rather secluded area in the mountains that practically required one to hike to to reach. He had calmed down a little from when he was in Japan, but was still going to, somehow, get Germany to talk.

Getting into a physical fight wouldn’t be the best idea for him though. A hundred years ago he could have easily taken his little brother in a fight, but now he wasn’t even an official country anymore. The only reason he was still alive in this present day was because his country hadn’t been entirely forgotten and people of Prussian descent still existed. Even so he was ever so slowly dying and would eventually cease to exist. He wasn’t sure he would come back to life again if he ended up dying so he didn’t want to risk getting killed.

As the house came into view in the distance he spotted a golden-haired head bobbing through the trees. It wasn’t Germany. As Prussia came closer he made it out to be one of the North American brothers. As the two were twins it was sometimes hard to tell them apart, especially if you weren’t close enough to see their different hair styles.

He was about to step behind a tree and watch from a distance to see what the man was doing, but his foot decided at just that moment to step on a practically brittle twig that snapped loudly and announced his presence.

“Who’s there?!” America whipped around to see where the noise had come from. As far as he knew he was alone.

Prussia wasn’t quick enough to hide so he played it off as if he meant to make the noise. “Hey there, America. I was wondering when you would notice my awesomeness. What brings you to Germany?”

“What brings you to Germany?” America shot back without thinking at all.

“I live here,” Prussia answered flatly. It wasn’t exactly true at the moment, since Germany still hadn’t said he could come home, but generally it was true.

“Oh, of course, you’re right,” America rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Actually I came here to see how Italy was doing. I heard he was staying here.”

“Well, you’re out of luck. He’s in Japan right now.”

“Oh…” America really should have called ahead of time before traveling all the way to Germany, but he had never even considered that Italy was anywhere else but with Germany. The two seemed to be practically married and it was almost a sure bet where one was the other would be.

Prussia was about to laugh at America for his oversight, when he remembered that he was the only nation that had been on the ski trip to Canada that he hadn’t asked about what happened; other than Russia, who had strangely seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet. He had kind of assumed if Canada wouldn’t tell him anything neither would his brother. He decided to take a chance and ask him. The worst thing that could happen was being told to mind his own business again.

“You were there on that ski trip you guys took back in January, right?”

“Yeah, dude, I was. What about it?” America had a sinking feeling he knew what Prussia was going to ask.

“You know what happened to Italy, don’t you? Come on, it’s been eating at me for six months. I need to know.” Prussia had an uncharacteristically earnest expression on his face and his red eyes were almost pleading.

America gulped down the lump in his throat before saying anything. “I really shouldn’t be telling anyone this, it’s like really terrible and personal and stuff. But no one will talk about it. They all go out of their way to avoid the subject altogether. But I was there, I was the only eye witness actually, dude.” The sight of it still haunted him.

It was already more information than any other country had given Prussia thus far. “Finally, please, just tell me.” He turned to a tree to his right side and raised his voice. “And you, come out from there, I can hear you breathing.” He had become aware that there was a third person nearby for the last few minutes.

Romano stepped out from behind the tree. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring fiercely. “Stupid potato bastard.”

“Hey, I’m not the one hiding behind trees like a wussy baby child,” Prussia shot back. “I’m guessing you’re here to get info out of my brother about your brother too?”

The grouchy southern Italian let out a huff before replying. “Sì…” Just like Prussia he felt that he had been in the dark for far too long.

“Well, you have perfect timing, the one person who’ll talk to us was about to tell what happened.”

Prussia and Romano both turned to America expectantly, waiting for the younger nation to speak.

America put his hands up imploringly. “C’mon, dudes, I didn’t say I was going to--”

“Please,” both nations said in unison.

America let out a big sigh. “I’m really going to regret this, aren’t I.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending Nantucket askew. “Fair warning: you’re _really_ not going to like this--like, at _all_ \--so just… don’t shoot the messenger.” He took a deep breath before beginning.

“So I only know this first part because Germany told me after it was all over, but when we first got to the ski resort, Italy went off on his own to explore the woods or something. Russia was out in the woods too for some reason or another, and he was insanely drunk and went batshit crazy and dragged Italy off to this old cabin thing and…” He paused, composing himself. “He raped Italy.”

America saw the shocked, wide-eyed expressions of his attentive listeners, but held up a hand when they opened their mouths to speak. “Hold on, I’m not done. If I stop now I don’t think I can get the rest out.” He sat down on a nearby log.

“The rest of the day Italy was acting really weird. I didn’t see him until dinner that night, but he wouldn’t eat. He ran off right after that--it was crazy cold out, but the dude just bolted straight out into the snow without a coat or anything and nearly got himself killed. I had no idea at the time, but thinking back I think seeing Russia again set him off and made him panic. My brother found him and saved him, and we thought that was the end of it, since he was acting like his usual self the next day. Germany said he’d been so traumatized by… what Russia did to him, that he just blocked it all out.” America took a breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. “The day after that… that was when the shit really hit the fan. Italy and Germany went off into the woods together, and Germany told Italy what he had blocked out. He’d discovered it himself after finding all the evidence in the cabin. Italy went kinda nuts and ran off by himself into the woods again, and Russia found him… again.”

He rested his face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a humorless laugh. Recalling details told to him by someone else was one thing, but having to recount the things he’d seen with his own eyes was just….

“Russia tortured Italy to death,” America continued, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion. “Broke all his limbs, beat him, cut him--and to top it all off, he raped him again. I found them just as he was finishing. I’m pretty sure Italy was already dead by the time I got there.” He closed his eyes, shuddering. “I saw Russia inside of Italy, slamming into him. There was so much blood.”

America couldn’t hold back any longer: he stumbled off of the log and over to the nearest tree as he emptied his stomach. After wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve he forced himself to finish the story. “As soon as he saw me, Russia shot and killed me.” With a bit more harshness than intended, he sardonically added, “Well, now my day’s completely ruined, so thanks for that I guess. Hope it was worth your curiosity.”

A heavy silence hung in the air.

Romano had turned as pale as Prussia and looked like he was going to join America in vomiting. Prussia was strangely expressionless. Neither one could say anything for an agonizingly long time.

“Well,” Prussia set his jaw grimly, “There’s only one thing to be done. We are going to find Russia and kill that rapist bastard.”

***

Italy stayed with Japan for the next few days. He improved rapidly once given some time to recover from the fright Prussia had given him. Japan had sat him in front of the most child-friendly anime he could find that wouldn’t trigger him at all. It seemed to help and soon Italy was smiling and laughing at the cute antics of kittens.

It was the morning of the third day when Italy asked if he could go home. By home he didn’t mean back to Venice, he meant to Germany. He really missed him.

It surprised Japan when Italy went back all by himself. He had expected to have to bring him back, but Italy seemed sure he could do it all alone, and he did. His heart was pounding a mile a minute every time anyone looked at him or he got too close to someone, but he made it back to Germany safe and sound.

The first thing he did once he got there was jump directly into Germany’s arms. “I missed you so, so much.” He nuzzled his face into Germany’s chest, inhaling his familiar scent.

He had spent so much time with Germany he had grown to take him for granted. Spending some time away from him had put things more into perspective. Spending time with Japan was fun and all, but he couldn’t do this with Japan. Germany did so much for him, even when he didn’t have to. He was always there, and so patient. Italy really didn’t deserve such a good friend like Germany. He was really selfless, and Italy felt like a leech hanging off him, sucking him dry and giving nothing back. He suddenly let the larger man go and took a step back, his eyes downcast. Maybe he should just….

“Are you okay?” Germany saw the sudden shift in Italy’s mood and it worried him.

Italy had slowly slid down to fall on his knees on the floor. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. “I’m so… worthless. Useless. A waste of space on this earth.” He flopped down from his knees to lie on his side, soft sobs racking his small frame. All he wanted right now was to die, to end this horrible feeling of inadequacy.

Germany knelt next to him. “No, you’re not. You are a wonderful person and the world is a much better place for having you in it.”

“No, I’m a filthy abomination. Who would want me?” Italy turned his face away. He wasn’t even worthy of looking at Germany’s handsome face.

“I do,” Germany said softly. He then realized how that sounded and added, “You are a very dear friend. You mean so much to me. Don’t think so poorly of yourself.” Germany lied down next to Italy so they were back to back.

“But how can you stand to even be near me? After what he… after what Russia did to me. I feel tainted. You know, I was a virgin before that. He stole that from me. I wanted it to be special, with someone I loved, not like that.” Italy pulled his knees up to his chest and held them there.

Germany was a little surprised that Italy was opening up like this. Always before he had refused to talk about the attack at all. If he really was a virgin before Russia raped him and stole his virginity, Germany could understand how much harder that made everything. It was a little hard to believe with how many centuries old Italy was that he had remained pure, but they were bizzare people to begin with.

Germany rolled over so he was facing Italy’s back. “You are not tainted. What he did to you was unforgivable, but you could never be tainted. You’re still the same man. The same wonderful man I love. He could never take that from you.”

Italy pulled his knees away from his chest, looking behind him at the blond man. “Wait, did you just--” He was pretty sure he had just heard a love confession from Germany.

Germany had only now realized what had come out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to word it that way, but it had just kind of slipped out. He turned a very becoming shade of pink. “I mean, I--” he stuttered, unable to come up with anything to say. If he went back on what he had said Italy would think he didn’t love him at all, but did he really love him like that? They had been together so long it just felt natural and he had never really thought too hard about it before. There was that fiasco back in the 1940’s where he had thought Italy wanted to marry him and he had asked him out, but the topic hadn’t come up again.

Italy rolled over so that he was face to face with Germany. “Do you… love me?” He hadn’t really thought about it much either. Germany was just a very close friend. A friend who he shared a bed with every night, who he was completely comfortable with hugging and giving kisses on the cheek at any given time. A friend who was always there when he needed him.

Germany was turning as red as a delicious ripe tomato. There was no turning back now. “I, I do. Ich liebe dich. I love you, Italy.”

It was Italy’s turn for his face to turn red from blushing. His heart started to race. He really wasn’t sure how to react. He loved Germany, that was obvious, but did he really want to risk their friendship by becoming lovers and bringing on all the drama that could entail? Plus he was still so scared of intimacy. What if Germany wanted to have sex? He wasn’t sure he could handle it after what Russia did to him. He was sure Germany would be gentle, but he was afraid it would remind him too much of the rape and it would be ruined.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me, but, I can’t. I love you, but as a friend.” Italy put his hands over his eyes, trying to hide his shame. Germany probably hated him now.

Germany let out a sigh of relief. He really didn’t think he could have handled Italy confessing his feelings to him outright. “Oh thank God, me too.”

Italy peeked out from behind his hands. “Wait, you only love me as a friend too? You’re not mad at me?”

“What? Nein, not at all. Why would I be? Now,” Germany said as he stood up, “Let’s go roast some potatoes, I’m famished.” He had become so accustomed to Italy cooking all the time that he had already used up all the leftovers while he had been gone and there wasn’t much to eat around the house. He reached down and offered a hand to help Italy off the floor.

Italy made a face at the thought of having just plain potatoes, but he took Germany’s offered hand to help him up and stood. “Okay, but can we at least add some garlic? Maybe some oregano and cheese?”

At one point in time, Germany would have protested--but now, he was simply so relieved that Italy was willing to eat at all that he didn’t have it in him to say anything but yes.


	3. Chapter 3

With America’s connections in US military intelligence they managed to find Russia’s last known location and covertly sneak all three of them into Siberia. He was hiding in an atomic bomb shelter that was built underground during WWII. Despite being a good 80 years old it must have been maintained as it was in rather good condition.

All three of them were dressed in green army camouflage to help stay hidden. It wouldn’t do a lot of good once they were inside the shelter with its steel-grey walls, but it was helpful when they were outside. They somehow made it inside without anyone or anything stopping them, which seemed far too easy. Russia must have known that someone would come looking for him eventually, and he would have prepared something to protect himself.

They came prepared themselves with several guns each. America had taken it a step further and had a semi-automatic rifle strapped across his back.

“I swear, when I get my hands on that bastard--” Prussia started to say before America shushed him.

“Quiet! There’s probably someone in here and we don’t want to blow our cover, dude,” America said in an all too loud whisper.

“Or we could just blow our cover by how fucking loud you two crappolas are,” Romano grumbled under his breath.

There had been an argument between America and Prussia over who was the leader of their mission of revenge. America had said that he should be because it was his intel getting them there in the first place, and also he was the hero. Prussia had countered, rather weakly, that he was much older and more awesome than America could ever hope to be in a million years and that he should be the leader. Romano was perfectly happy just following along behind them. He really didn’t want to get involved in a fight, but for his brother he would.

Prussia had taken the lead into the shelter, ignoring America when he told him he should go first. Suddenly two men dressed all in black jumped out from the shadows and pointed guns at them. Without a second thought, Prussia shot them dead on the spot.

“Did you have to do that, dude? There’s no need to get regular people involved in this. The Russian government is not going to like this...” They had only been given permission to enter restricted areas with the understanding that they were not to harm anyone but their target. America was slightly disturbed that Prussia had taken the lives of the unknown humans so quickly.

“We are at war, boys. We don’t have time for namby pamby niceties,” Prussia replied, a devilish light burning in his eyes. He had to admit he was enjoying this, it had been so long since he had some action. “Besides,” he added, “it’s not like we haven’t killed before.” After all, Prussia himself had lived through the crusades and two world wars, just to name a few.

“Yeah, but--” America started to argue.

“Enough already!” Romano interjected before the two hot-headed countries got into a fight. “What’s done is done. Let’s get going before I die of old age! Andiamo!”

_Or before Russia shows up and kills us all._

The implication behind his words was enough to quiet the two arguing nations, and they quickly resumed the trek inside the shelter. Romano gingerly stepped over the bodies of what he presumed were Russia’s guards and followed after his friends. While he put up a wall of bravado, he was actually scared half to death. He could be quite cowardly at heart and found himself gravitating towards the strongest person there, America, to keep him safe. He had to stop himself from actually grabbing his arm and clinging on for dear life like some frightened high-school girl in a haunted house.

It felt like the place went on forever. They kept walking down a long hallway, stopping to check each doorway they found along the way. Romano had wanted to try to use his lock-picking skills to open the doors quietly, but America just kicked them in using his abnormal strength instead. If Russia hadn’t known they were there before, he did now.

So far they hadn’t found anything of interest in any of the rooms. There were only canisters labeled in Russian of old food stuffs, and blankets and other bedding. They were starting to give up hope that Russia was actually even there, when they finally came to the end of the long hallway. It felt far too cliché that he would actually be behind the most obvious door, like a storyline from a video game, but once America used his brute strength to knock the door over, there he was. He was seated in a wheeled office chair, stroking a sleek black cat like some kind of cartoon villain.

“It took you long enough, da?” Russia said calmly. He seemed far too relaxed for someone who’d just been found by three people out for his blood. The cat yawned and jumped off his lap, trotting out a small flap on the wall.

“Fuck you!” Romano yelled, surprising the others by being the first to try and run at their target.

Prussia grabbed Romano by the collar of his shirt, holding the brunet back. “Slow down there, tomato breath! This has got to be a trap.”

America took a step forward, squaring his shoulders boldly and pointing a finger straight at Russia, looking the picture of a hero. “We are here to bring you to justice, creepy Russian dude!” He put the finger down before adding, “But first, tell us why you did it. It was seriously messed up, dude.” America’s formerly bright expression darkened and turned serious.

“Did what, pray tell?” Russia feigned innocence to see if he could get a rise out of them.

“You know full fucking well what you did, bastard! You raped my little brother, you pile of shit!” Romano roared, barely being contained by Prussia who was still holding him back. If he got loose he’d likely try to strangle Russia to death with his bare hands. The only problem being that Russia was much stronger than he was and it would amount to nothing save for harming himself.

“Oh dear, did I?” Russia still hadn’t moved from his chair. “When was that, my little Italian?”

Romano started to answer when Prussia stopped him. “Mein Gott, spaghetti brain, he’s just taunting you! Save your breath!”

The southern Italian visibly deflated after he realized what Prussia was saying was true. Russia was just toying with them. He calmed down enough that Prussia let him go after he promised to not run headlong into danger like an idiot.

While they were talking, America had been looking around the room to try to find out what trap Russia must have set for them. It seemed pretty normal. It was a very plain room with a desk by the far wall with a computer set up on it. Judging by the chair Russia was seated in, it was some kind of office. The only decoration was a Russian flag hung on the wall behind the desk.

Russia rolled his chair nonchalantly over to the computer and grabbed the mouse, clicked on something, and quickly pulled a breathing mask out of the drawer of the desk, donning it. Within seconds a heavy purple gas filled the room.

“Don’t breathe it in, dudes!” America warned, but it was far too late.

Prussia was the first to succumb to the gas, collapsing in a heap. Romano was next: he tried to get at Russia before it got him, but was soon choking and gasping on the floor. America held out the longest, but eventually he, too, fell to the floor. The last thing he saw before his consciousness slipped away was Russia standing over Romano, pulling the Italian's gun out of its holster.

***

“No, Germany! If you stir it that much it'll be ruined!” Italy shouted in alarm, taking the spoon from the confused German.

Germany had offered to help Italy make some pastries. Italy was usually rather spacey and laid back, but put him in the kitchen and he turned into a little drill sergeant. Apparently Germany had no clue what he was doing and kept making mistakes. He could follow a recipe just fine, but Italy didn’t tell him about all the little tips and secrets of making everything ‘just right’ and he was lost. He was covered head to toe in flour and getting more frustrated by the minute.

“But the recipe says to beat it at a medium speed for two minutes,” Germany tried to defend himself.

“Medium, not 100 kilometers per hour!” Italy huffed. He was about to just kick the bumbling man out of the kitchen when he realized how silly it was of him to get angry at him over something so insignificant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s okay, I just really don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never made these Italian pastries before, only German ones. They have such different instructions.” He dusted some of the flour off his shirt, regretting not wearing an apron like Italy had. “Could you teach me?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t slow down to show you the extra stuff.”

Italy explained the secrets of making the sweets so Germany could understand, and walked him through each step. When they got to stirring it he laid his hand over the top of Germany’s, guiding the larger hand on how to stir the batter properly. Germany found himself blushing slightly at the close contact. Italy didn’t seem to notice, making it worse by pressing himself against Germany’s back so he could reach with his shorter arm.

Germany fought the embarrassment down, closed his eyes and tried to center his mind. Italy would probably freak out if he mentioned it. He was slowly coming to the realization that he did have feelings for Italy. With how scared Italy still was of anything more intimate than a hug he didn’t dare act on anything though.

Italy had been doing very well for the last few days after the breakdown he had upon his return from Japan. He'd had only one very mild nightmare and had been eating quite well; he’d even put on a little weight. Germany was in high hopes that he would fully recover from his trauma eventually.

They finished making the pastries, pulling them out of the oven and leaving them to cool on racks, and Germany left the house to go do some grocery shopping.

Which, by extension, meant he left Italy alone.

Italy unfortunately still wasn’t ready to go out in public for an extended period of time. He’d used up all his tolerance for that going to and from Japan, and Germany was proud of him for managing even that much.

Italy stood in the doorway and waved him off, holding one of Germany’s smaller dogs--a brown and white terrier--in his arms and waving the dog’s paw for her. Once Germany was out of sight he quickly locked the front door and checked it four times to make absolutely certain it was locked. He checked all the other doors in the house to make sure they were definitely locked too. He was still quite paranoid and could never be too sure. He ignored the thought that if someone really wanted to get in they could. Locks only kept honest people out, but having them made him feel at least a little safer.

He switched the television on, hoping to find something funny or cute to watch. What he found instead was a movie about a girl who had been severely abused and tried to kill herself. Italy knew he shouldn’t watch it, it was only giving him flashbacks, but he knew exactly how the girl felt. By the end of it he was curled into a ball on the couch, crying his eyes out. The ending, although happy, had just made him feel worse. The girl had found her true love, who somehow, seemingly magically, had made all her pain and fears go away and she lived happily ever after, never to be troubled by thoughts of her torment again.

Real life just didn’t work like that. Even if you found someone who you truly loved and who truly loved you, things just didn’t fix themselves like that. The pain did fade after a time, but it never truly went away. The scars still remained, forever.

Italy got more and more depressed the more he thought about it. He just... he was so just so worthless. Would anyone even notice if he ceased to exist? Even Germany, who claimed to love him. Wouldn’t he be better off without him? All his time was stolen by taking care of him; he never did anything else anymore.

Germany’s dogs could sense that Italy was sad and tried to comfort him. The German shepherd licked his hand while the terrier jumped up beside him on the couch and laid her head on his, her brown eyes wide and concerned.

Normally the dogs would be enough to snap Italy out of his sadness, but he was in much too deep this time. He didn’t even know he was moving when he stumbled into the bathroom. The dogs tried to follow him, but he shut the door before they could get in.

He stared at himself in the mirror. What had he become? His eyes were hollow with dark circles under them, his skin pale from lack of sunlight for so long, and his cheeks weren’t round like they used to be, they were sunken and almost gaunt. He was so ugly now… How could anyone love this face? He looked away, unable to look at himself.

He turned the water on in the tub, making sure it was as hot as it would go. Once the tub was full he stripped off all his clothes and stepped inside. The water was scalding hot. So hot he almost jumped out right away, but he didn’t, quickly growing numb all over. It was what he was looking for. Germany didn’t know that he had been practically roasting himself daily.

Italy stayed in the tub until he started to drift off. He shook himself awake almost instantly. He couldn’t fall asleep without the assurance of having Germany there to protect him. He really was such a burden, wasn’t he? He couldn’t do anything by himself anymore, could he? He disgusted himself.

Crawling out of the tub, a little wobbly on his feet and light-headed from the heat, he towelled off and got dressed again. He still needed to frost the pastries he and Germany had made earlier so he went to the kitchen, set on doing something to keep his mind off his dark thoughts.

They didn’t leave him alone though. He kept peeking glances at the set of very sharp knives that Germany had. How nice it would be to stab one of them through his heart and make these feelings go away.

He set the bowl of frosting he was making from scratch down and picked up one of the smaller knives. He tilted it from side to side, watching it glint in the light. The German Shepherd ran into the kitchen just then and his big bushy tail knocked into Italy’s right hand, causing it to slip sideways towards his left arm. The blade of the knife cut a small gash in his skin.

Italy wasn’t mad at the dog, he was just a dog and had no idea what he had just done. He was more mad at himself for being strangely fascinated by watching his own blood trickle down his arm. As if some unseen force was controlling his hand, he cut another gash alongside the first. Unable to control what he was doing, his whole left forearm was soon cut and bleeding all over.

Tears flowed down his face. What…

What had he just done?

He dropped the bloody knife on the counter and ran to the bathroom again. He bandaged the arm the best he could by himself, wrapping it in gauze, still sobbing. Germany would be home anytime now. Italy didn’t want him to see what he had done. That he’d been so weak he had hurt himself on purpose.

Completely stricken with panic, Italy did the only thing he could think of:

He ran.

He ran out the backdoor and into the woods. Italy never told Germany this, but the woods surrounding his house scared him. While having very different species of trees in them, they still reminded him of the woods in Canada.

He was torn between his fear of the looming trees, or of Germany discovering the shameful thing he had just done. He decided disappointing Germany was far more terrifying than the unknown of the woods and went further into them.

Italy didn’t stop until he came to a small pond. He sat down by it, curling into a defensive little ball. Maybe he would just turn into an alpine hermit and live here.

About an hour passed and nothing happened.

“There you are! Don’t scare me like that!” Germany came running up to Italy, sitting down beside him.

Italy had thought he went far enough into the woods that Germany would never find him. “How did you find me?”

“Well, after all that’s happened, I turned on the GPS on your phone. I used it to track you.” Germany looked Italy over, trying to see if he was okay. “Also you didn’t go very far. I could see you from the house.”

“Oh,” was all Italy could say. In his panicked state he had no clue what he was doing.

“What happened in the kitchen?” Germany had nearly had a heart attack when he had come home and seen the bloody knife and Italy nowhere to be found.

“I cut myself,” Italy blurted out. He had never intended to just tell Germany what happened, but it just came flying out of him.

“Oh, okay. You okay? Then why are you out here?” Germany assumed that Italy meant he had accidentally cut himself while cooking, and wasn’t practically concerned about that. As long as he didn’t chop a finger off or something he’d be fine.

Italy sat up so Germany could fully see his bandaged arm. He had been hiding it up until this point. “No. I cut myself. On purpose.”

Germany stared at him for a moment. “You _what_? Why the hell would you do that?”

Italy didn’t reply directly. “You know, maybe they were onto something with the practice of bloodletting.”

“What are you talking about? That’s very… medieval of you.” Germany was confused and starting to get annoyed that Italy wasn’t telling him why he had injured himself. Wasn’t he already in a lot of emotional pain? Why would he add physical pain to his troubles? Voluntarily no less.

“I know. I was there. It was a common belief that the body had to be kept in balance at all times and letting blood out could cure all kinds of things. Of course now we know that it’s more likely to lead to an infection, but they still use it sometimes today in rare cases.” It was very uncharacteristic for Italy to go off in a historical explanation like this. He acted like an airhead most of the time, but he was very old and had amassed a lot of knowledge. Knowledge he generally never used, preferring instead to sleep, eat, or create art.

“And you’re giving me this lesson in outdated medical practices because?” Germany was worried that Italy had gone insane.

“It’s just, I kind of understand it. It felt like a kind of release when I did it. I know it was wrong of me, but I just couldn’t stop myself.” Italy hung his head in shame. Even he realized that he wasn't making much sense right now, but at the same time he just wanted to scrounge for some kind of rational meaning behind his own actions. He felt so empty inside.

“So, you’re saying you did it to let off some steam? What the hell, Italy?! Mein Gott, there are less damaging ways to do that, you idiot!” Now Germany was angry. He had been very patient with Italy for six long months, but this was going too far. He stood and started to walk away.

Italy jumped up and went after him. “Germany?!” he cried, grabbing onto the larger man’s arm, desperate to keep him from leaving. This felt all too much like the dream he had in Japan.

“Stop being so clingy, be a man already!” Germany shouted, shaking his arm to make the smaller man let go. He underestimated how weak Italy was and sent him flying a few feet away to land on his rear end. He almost stopped to see if he was okay. Almost. If he wanted to go and hurt himself, let him. What did he care? Germany was in such a rage he really couldn’t think clearly at all. He stalked off into the woods before he hurt Italy more.

Italy was unharmed by landing on the ground, but he was hurt by the fact that Germany had thrown him. It was the first time he’d raised his voice or shown any sign of anger at all. He’d been almost inhumanly kind to him for half a year.

Even the most patient of people had their limits, and apparently Italy had just inadvertently pushed Germany to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a rather serious story, but I am actually a gigantic history loving nerd and just had to add some of my weird medieval medical practice knowledge in here somewhere. Did you know that George Washington actually died because of bloodletting? 
> 
> It's really very ironic with how much I love history that I chose to have this take place in the present day.


	4. Chapter 4

America was woken up by a sound that could only be described as a squeal coming from the other side of the room. He blearily opened his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and tried to find the source of the noise. Once his eyes focused he saw that Russia was sitting on the office chair, Romano on his lap. Russia was groping the protesting Italian’s ass, talking softly in his ear.

“I wonder if you taste as good as your little baby brother.” Russia inhaled Romano’s scent. “You smell like garlic and sun ripened tomatoes.” He ran a hand up the small of his back and all the way up to his shoulders, causing the smaller man to shudder. “I could go for some Italian right now.”

“Eeee! Please, don’t eat me!” Romano screamed, far too scared and weakened by whatever drug was in the gas to even try to get away. He was frozen in place, tears flowing freely down his face.

Russia had removed all their weapons as soon as the knockout gas took effect. He hadn’t bothered to tie any of them up though. The gas was strong enough to take down America and was still causing the countries problems. Prussia was still out cold--not being an official country anymore, he was much weaker than the others.

Russia ignored Romano and started to slowly unbutton his camo outershirt. He tossed it to the side and was starting to pull off the black tank top underneath when America shouted hoarsely across the room.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” He stood shakily to his feet and staggered forward, almost losing his balance but managing to just barely stay upright.

“And what are you going to do about it, little boy?” Russia had Romano shirtless now, and was caressing his bare skin with his cold hands. A string of curses in Italian were pouring out of Romano’s mouth in between screams of terror. “You really aren’t as nice as your brother, are you? No wonder why everyone wants him over you.” Russia slapped Romano across the face. It only made him scream louder. He then gave his hair curl a sharp yank.

Tears were still streaming down the brunet’s face, but he fell silent. Romano’s hair curl was also his erogenous zone, just like his brother, and pulling it roughly like that hurt like hell. Romano was trembling--was he going to suffer the same fate as his brother? To make matters worse, was he going to have an audience as well?

Just as Russia was unbuttoning Romano’s pants, America spoke up. “Take me instead, let him go.” He was standing just a few feet away from Russia and Romano now. It had taken him quite a while to move across the room with the potent drug still coursing through him. Even now it was taking all his considerable strength of will just to not collapse.

“The great America is offering himself to me? Just like that? How heroically stupid of you.” Russia paused for a moment to consider the offer. “I’ve never had an American before. Wonder what they taste like.”

“Probably cholesterol and capitalism,” America quipped. While he did fear what Russia might do to him, he just couldn’t stand by and watch as the Italian was violated. What kind of hero would do that? Plus Romano had already been through enough with what had happened to his brother. America was strong, he could handle it. He could handle anything, right?

“Alright, this might be interesting for a change of pace. Why don’t you give us a little show, boy?  _ Strip _ .” Russia stroked the top of Romano’s head like he was some kind of pet.

“What do you think I am, a hooker?” America asked, offended both by the implication and by the fact that Russia kept belittling him by calling him boy. “And you need to let Romano go before I’ll do anything. Got that, dude?”

“You Americans, always so impatient. Wanting everything right now,” Russia sneered, but he unceremoniously dropped Romano on the floor and let him go.

Romano grabbed his clothes off the floor and scurried as quickly as he could to the farthest corner of the room. He saw that Russia had fixed the door America had kicked down to get them into the room so there was no immedient escape route. They must have been out for quite awhile for him to have time to fix it. Either that or Russia was very good at fixing doors.

Romano dressed himself again and spotted Prussia, still sprawled out on the floor where he had fallen. Fearing he was dead, he crawled on his hands and knees to check on him. Feeling a pulse and that he was still breathing, Romano found that he was only unconscious. The drug was still making him incredibly sluggish himself, he found it hard to move at all and just sat on the floor next to the knocked out Prussia. He tried not to look at America, who was starting to take his clothes off. The least he could do was give the man some dignity after he had saved him.

“You’re a real sicko, you know that?” America growled as he unbuttoned and tossed to the floor his own camo outershirt and pulled his black tank top over his head. He was reaching for his pants when Russia stopped him.

“No, not so fast, more slowly. Make it sexy,” Russia purred, running his eyes over America’s half clothed body. He had expected the American to be much fatter, but found that he was actually well-toned and lean.

America glared daggers at him before pulling a leg up to unbuckle one black army boot and tugging it and his sock off and throwing both to the side. He repeated the action with his other foot. He slowly pulled down his pants, stepping out of them, leaving him in nothing but a pair of white briefs. “Happy now, bastard?”

“You are very bad at this. That wasn’t sexy at all,” Russia complained, looking bored.

“Well, better not quit my day job then.” America was trying his best not to show Russia how scared he was becoming. He was 99.9 percent sure he knew what Russia was going to do to him, but why was he taking so damn long? The waiting without knowing was killing him.

“Now, the underwear too,” Russia prompted.

“Picky asshole wants the whole kit and caboodle, huh?” America pulled his last garment off, now completely exposed.

Russia looked him up and down. “You are rather well… endowed. You must be popular with the ladies. Or fellows. Despite my country’s laws on the matter I don’t judge.”

“Yeah, because you’re like a totally creepy rapist who doesn’t care whose ass you take, sicko.” America was blushing now, but he didn’t bother to try to hide his penis. There really wasn’t a point when it had already been seen.

Russia ignored his comment. “Now, come here, boy. On your knees.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his own equally large penis. Russia still hadn’t moved from his chair, making America come to him.

“I hope you washed your dick, dude.” America couldn’t believe he was actually doing it, but he knelt in front of Russia and took his penis in his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, at first slowly and then faster, running his tongue up and down the length. Ignoring his gag reflex, he shoved the entire length down his throat. Russia had not in fact washed his penis and it tasted horrible.

“You’ve obviously done this before,” Russia commented, grabbing a fistful of America’s blond hair to hold him in place, letting out a small moan of pleasure as he hardened.

America didn’t reply. He wasn’t about to tell Russia about his sex life. Best to just pleasure the creep as fast as possible and get this the hell over with. He came up for air for a second and stuck a finger in his mouth, wetting it before reaching behind himself, intend on at least preparing his ass some for what he was sure Russia would do.

Russia slapped his hand away before he got there. “There will be none of that.”

America’s eyes widened as he stopped sucking Russia’s penis. “Dude, you can’t just go in dry, you’ll rip me up!”

“Be glad I let you suck my cock first.” Russia finally stood from his chair, turning America around and pushing him down, holding a hand firmly on his back, pinning him to the hard, cold floor.

America tried to get up, struggling under the strong hand, but he was still much too weak to escape. To his credit, he didn’t cry or scream as Russia pushed inside his ass, he only let out a small gasp. He was biting down on his own tongue to keep from making any more sound. It hurt like hellfire, but he wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Now that he was inside, Russia moved his hands so that he was gripping America’s thighs, holding him up so he was on his hands and knees. “You aren’t nearly as fun as little Italy. At this point he was screaming so loudly, but you won’t make a sound.” He started to thrust in and out, feeling America start to shake underneath him. “What do I need to do to make you break, hmm?” He leaned over the younger nation, pounding in and out of him in a rhythm, but still America didn’t give him what he wanted. The only sounds in the room were the slap of skin against skin and America’s labored breathing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you absolute psycho?! Why do you enjoy hurting others?!” America gasped out through gritted teeth. The blond was almost crying, but he held the tears back, the only thing pouring out of him was blood from Russia’s rough treatment of his asshole. He tried to relax his muscles, if he was tense the pain would only be worse. With each agonizing thrust of Russia’s hips he started to come closer and closer to breaking.

Russia pulled out of America and stood up, pulling him with him. He sat down in the office chair and pulled America onto his lap, shoving back inside. America was facing Russia now and his head hung limply on his shoulder, his eyes glazed over in pain and his arms wrapped around Russia’s torso loosely. The fight was gone from him and he was enduring Russia’s torture in silence.

“Enjoying the show, da, Romano? You’re next. Then I might go for that albino freak, but I’ve already had him before, so maybe not.” Russia moved America’s ass up and down on his penis, giving Romano a clear view of what he was doing.

This entire time Romano had been trying to not watch as Russia raped America, but it was impossible not to. He was disgusted at himself both for not being able to look away and for having become aroused and having an erection. Now Russia was going back on his promise to America to let Romano off the hook and was threatening to violate him and Prussia as well.

Russia stood again, holding America against his chest with his penis still impaling him, and turned his back to Romano, bouncing America up and down the whole time. He walked over to the side wall of the room, planning on leaning America against it and continuing to fuck him until he got him to scream or cry.

Romano saw his chance to finally do something. He had seen Prussia put a small handgun down inside his left boot. He had made fun of him for bothering to do something unnecessary like that, but now he was praying to God that Russia hadn’t found it and it was still there. He pulled off Prussia’s boot and said a silent thank you to Heaven above when he found that the gun was still there. He picked it up, took the safety off, and cocked it.

He stood up, leaning against the wall for a moment to steady himself and catch his nerve. He then swiftly marched across the room, and shot Russia directly in the back of the head. “That was for Veneziano, for the first time you raped him!” He shot Russia again, this time in the back. “And that was for the second time!” Romano emptied all the bullets in the gun into Russia, firing at random all over his body. “And that was for what you just did to America!”

Romano was shaken, his whole frame quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind, crying openly. It had been a long time since he had killed someone, and even then it was self-defense against a mafia hitman, but Russia needed to die for his crimes. He fell to his knees at the same time as Russia’s body hit the floor. The first shot hadn’t killed him instantly, but the repeated shots finally did the incredibly strong country in. The empty gun slipped out of the shaking Italian's hand and spun across the floor to land a few inches from Prussia’s head. Romano put his hands up to his face and started sobbing loudly.

“What the hell happened here?” Prussia was finally conscious again only to find a crying Romano and a very dead, bloody, bullet-filled Russia. “Where’s America? And where the hell is mein boot?” He tried to stand up, but promptly fell over again. He gave up trying to stand and crawled slowly over to the others, dragging himself painfully along the floor.

Romano stopped crying long enough to answer him. “H-he’s under Russia.”

Now that Prussia was closer, he could see a bare arm and leg sticking out from under the large man’s body. “Well, don’t just sit there crying like a little baby child, help me get him off him!”

With their combined effort they managed to roll Russia’s corpse off of America. He was somehow still alive, more than that he was still conscious, but unresponsive, having gone completely silent. His glasses were broken, one lens shattered and the frame bent in the middle. Romano pulled them off and pocketed them for safe keeping. It wouldn’t do to add broken glass in his eyes to America’s list of injuries. He had small cuts and bruises all over, but the worst wound was definitely his ass; it was bleeding even more than before now that they had pulled Russia out of him. Romano grimaced when he saw a few of the bullets he had randomly fired at Russia had grazed America’s legs, which had been wrapped around Russia’s waist. Thankfully they hadn’t done any major harm, but Romano still felt bad about it.

The southern Italian took America’s discarded tank top off the floor and tore it into strips that he used to help bandage and stop the bleeding on America’s ripped up rear end. He’d need proper medical care, but it was the best he could do for now.

Prussia had gathered the strength to stand and was holding up one of Russia’s limp arms, using it to balance himself as he viciously kicked the man’s body in the side with his still booted right foot until he heard the crack of his ribs breaking. He knew he was dead and couldn’t feel it, but it gave him a sense of justice to be able to hurt the bastard after all that he had done. He also felt like he had been left out since he had been unconscious and unable to do anything while Romano was molested and America was straight up raped. He never expected Romano to be the one to finally kill Russia, but it had a strange sort of rightness about it. The Italian had finally paid the creep back in kind for what he had done to his brother.

Romano had finished dressing America’s wounds and was pulling his clothes back on for him; he still hadn’t spoken a single word and just stared ahead, his blue eyes blank. “You don’t have to answer me, but something Russia said earlier made me wonder. He said that he’d already had you. What did he mean by that?” Romano was trying to think of something besides how beat up America was. He didn’t comment on how useless it was that Prussia was beating the dead man. If he hadn’t killed him himself he’d probably be doing the same thing.

Prussia stopped literally beating a dead, well, Russian, and sat down beside Romano and America. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he did reply. “The only ones who know about this are mein Bruder and the Baltics, but well,” he found the boot Romano had taken off his foot and put it back on, “Back in 1947, when I was dissolved as a country, Russia wanted me, my land, everything, and took me back to his house. Since I was basically the spoils of war no one could stop him. He used me as his toy for years…” His red eyes gleamed in anger. “So after I heard what he did to Italy… I couldn’t let him get away with doing that to anyone else. But now,” he looked down at America, “He still did it again.”

“I’m truly sorry that happened to you. He’s even more of a horrible bastard than I thought he was, but there was nothing any of us could do. Whatever that drug that was in that gas…” Romano trailed off. They both knew that they couldn’t have stopped anything, but still they both felt useless, and America had paid the price for them.

“Ich bin wertlos… There had to be something I could have done…” Prussia knew full well that there was nothing he could have done, but he still felt totally worthless and useless just the same. He had long since buried his memories of what Russia did to him all those decades ago, but hearing about what happened to Italy had made them all come back up to the surface. He understood now why no one wanted to tell him anything about it. He himself hadn’t wanted anyone to know when it happened to him. The Baltics only knew because they had been at Russia’s house on more than one occasion and while not having witnessed it firsthand, they saw the obvious signs of it happening. Germany knew because Prussia lived with him and one day he got so drunk he broke down and told him the entire story, making him swear on pain of death to never tell anyone.

They both sat in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes until America broke it by finally speaking. “Dudes… We should probably get the hell out of Dodge before... someone finds us.” His voice was barely above a whisper and very halting, but it had been so quiet in the room that Romano and Prussia heard him clearly.

“Can you stand?” Romano asked, standing himself and offering a hand to help America up.

America took the hand and very slowly stood, pulling on Romano’s arm heavily to help him. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, throwing an arm across the brunet’s shoulders. “Okay, let’s go.”

Romano strained under America’s weight. While the blond was on his feet, he was only staying there thanks to Romano. “Oof, America, you need to lay off the burgers,” Romano muttered. When no comeback to his remark came, he looked behind him to find that America had fainted. The pain had finally become too much for him. “Great, now I have to carry his fat ass out of here,” Romano complained, but there was no malice in his words. Carrying the man was a very small repayment for what he had done for him. He really owed America for offering himself in place of him to Russia. Romano was sure he wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well as America appeared to have.

Prussia handcuffed Russia’s hands securely behind his back. Even with him dead, there was no telling how long he’d stay that way and he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t escape. He grabbed hold of Russia’s long, always present, scarf and started hauling him along by it.

Now the only thing to do was get the hell out of the bomb shelter, and figure out how to punish Russia for all his crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the whole reason I rated this story the way I did :'D. In the original brainchild of this story, America was grabbed and raped by Russia after he walked in on him and Italy the second time Italy was raped. The more I thought about it though, the less sense it made for it to happen then. Russia's too smart to have left himself open like that, someone was bound to come looking for the missing countries and catch him. I also didn't want to distract from Italy, since the first story is mainly about him. The second part is both about America and Italy, even though Italy is still the main character.


	5. Chapter 5

Italy just sat on the ground, unmoving. He was so emotionally drained that he couldn’t even cry. Now even Germany, the one person he thought would never leave him, had left. He really was just a useless burden. Now more than ever he just wanted it to end, to give up, to die.

He couldn’t even move to do that. It hadn’t been in the weather forecast, but it started to rain, at first it was merely a light drizzle, but it soon turned into a heavy downpour, great torrents of water falling from the sky. Italy thought almost humorously that Mother Nature was expressing his tears for him.

Not even the rain, which had already soaked through his clothes and was rapidly chilling him to the bone, could make the depressed man get up and seek shelter. Maybe if he just stayed there the elements would do him in without him having to do a single thing himself. His golden eyes closed and he let out a sigh, lying down on the ground and slowly drifting off into a semi-conscious state, waiting for oblivion to claim him.

He didn’t even fully blank out, as a pair of strong arms picked him off the ground. Germany had come back after it started to rain and found Italy lying on the ground. Both the exercise and the rain had cleared his head considerably. He was still upset that Italy had cut himself, but his conscience had gotten the best of him and he couldn’t just leave his friend all alone like that; especially when he so desperately needed someone to be by his side right now when he was in such a dark place.

Germany carried the smaller man, bridal style, back to the house. He didn’t say anything as he set him carefully on the floor of the bathroom, expecting him to get the idea that he was supposed to undress himself and get in the shower to warm up. He wasn’t about to strip Italy himself and risk scaring him to death. When he came back a few minutes later with a clean pair of pajamas and found that Italy hadn’t moved from the floor, it was obvious he hadn’t gotten it at all. He was still far too gone.

Germany sighed and turned on the water. Once it was a suitable temperature, he pulled Italy off the floor and stood him under the shower head, still fully clothed. It wasn’t like it would make a difference whether he was still dressed or not, anyway--he was already sopping wet, and it would still warm him up.

“Change into those,” he ordered, turning the water off and pointing to the pajamas on the floor. He turned his back to Italy to give him some privacy. He heard the plop of Italy pulling his soggy clothes off and dropping them in the tub. Being stern with Italy seemed to be the only way to get him to listen.

He gave Italy a good few minutes to change then turned around to find that while he had put the pajamas on, he had buttoned the shirt one button off and it was very crooked. Germany took a step forward and unbuttoned it, buttoning it the proper way. All this time Italy just stared blankly ahead, totally expressionless.

Germany took Italy by the arm and guided him as if he was guiding a blind person to Italy’s room. It wasn’t that far from the truth as he didn’t seem to be seeing anything that was in front of him. Once inside the room Germany sat Italy down on the bed and left. It was the first time in six months that the room had been used, since Italy had been sleeping with Germany in his room.

Germany took a quick shower himself, changing into pajamas and running a towel through his hair once he was done; it stuck out every which way, but for the most part flopped down over his forehead and eyes. It was getting long, he could use a haircut, he thought absentmindedly. He also had the beginnings of a beard growing. He hadn’t had time to even bother taking care of himself while looking after Italy all the time.

He was torn over whether to leave Italy alone in his room, or to go to his own room for the night. Poking his head inside Italy’s room, he saw that, unsurprisingly, he still hadn’t moved. He sat down beside him. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure you’d want to know what’s in my head right now. It’s very...dark,” Italy said softly, looking down at his bare feet.

Germany lied down on the bed, stretching his legs out and placing his hands behind his head. “Just tell me, I think I can handle it.”

Italy crawled over and lied down beside him, wary of placing his head on the German’s inviting chest. He was scared that he was still mad at him and wouldn’t want him to, not knowing that Germany had intentionally left himself open like that so Italy could rest on him if he wanted comfort. Finally he decided resting his head on the pillow was a safer bet. “I’ve been thinking about death a lot,” he started. “Have you ever been to the island of Poveglia? They say it’s the most haunted place on earth. I was a child when they were dumping plague victims on it. I got sent there myself. I was trapped there for months, dying and coming back to life again and again. The screams, the stench of death all around.” He shook his head in anguish at the painful memory. “I went back there a few years back, and the soil is still made up of half human remains, even after all these centuries. I could still feel the presence of all those people that died there.”

“Isn’t that place off limits?” Germany wondered aloud. He wasn’t really sure how to react to Italy going on about history that happened long before he came into being.

“I _am_ Italy, I have permission to go pretty much anywhere in my country. Plus it’s really close to where I live.” He propped himself up on one arm and faced Germany. “What happens after we die? I know we are basically immortal, but someday…like with Grandpa Rome… Nothing lasts forever.”

“Humans have been asking that since the dawn of time; no one really knows the answer for absolute certain.” It was so rare to have such a serious conversation with Italy of all people. They usually avoided talking about things like religion or if there was an afterlife. “I thought you were Catholic. Don’t you believe everyone goes to either heaven, hell, or purgatory after they die?”

“But we aren’t exactly human.” Italy crawled on top of Germany and straddled his hips, placing both hands on his shoulders and staring straight into his eyes, his golden eyes almost boring holes into Germany’s very confused blue ones. “And for that matter, why does God allow so much suffering? It’s like He’s toying with us… perché… He won’t even let us die and end it all.” Italy started to cry, rocking back and forth as he pressed himself against Germany’s body.

“I’m sure there has to be some kind of reason for it. There has to be, right?” Germany murmured.

He was almost relieved that Italy was finally crying, it at least meant that he was letting out his emotions in a much less harmful way then cutting himself. He was starting to become very uncomfortable though, he felt a rising heat in between his legs as Italy continued to rock against him. Germany needed to get away before Italy noticed that his actions were unintentionally giving the blond a boner. Italy would likely freak out if he knew, and Germany wanted to help him, not make him worse. His own urges would have to be contained.

Germany shifted so Italy slid down to his side instead of sitting directly on top of him. He rubbed the auburn-haired nation’s back in a circular motion with both hands, trying to comfort him. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, exhausted.

Germany quickly ran to the bathroom to take care of his problem in private.

***

Over the next few days Italy’s mood steadily improved. His arm was healing nicely as well, he was lucky that he hadn’t cut very deep into it. It was evening and he and Germany were sitting on the couch together, watching a very odd movie all about making goat cheese.

“What the hell, they can’t just bury the cheese!” Germany exclaimed after the movie was over.

“You really don’t want to know about Casu Marzu then,” Italy laughed, playfully whacking Germany with a pillow and enjoying his look of absolute horror when he explained that the cheese was served with live maggots.

“That’s disgusting! How the hell did someone think that was a good idea?!” Germany grabbed a pillow from the other side of the couch and defended himself from Italy’s soft whacks.

The two had a small pillow war that ended in Italy flopping down on the couch with Germany hovering over top of him. Both of them were smiling, laughing, and out of breath. It had been a long time since they had just had some silly fun together.

Germany leaned closer to Italy, mere inches from his face. He really wanted to kiss him right now, he was adorable with his rosy flushed cheeks and his smile that lit up his whole face. Remembering how he had rejected him before when he had admitted his feelings, he pulled away, not wanting to cross the line.

Italy reached up and grabbed the back of Germany’s neck, pulling him back down. They both stared at each other for a long moment, both unsure about what to do.

“May I?” Germany asked softly, wanting to make sure he had permission before doing anything.

Italy gave him his answer by making the first move and pressing his lips to Germany’s. Germany responded and returned the kiss, not wanting to make it too intimate he pulled back and sat up after a few seconds. They both sat on the couch blushing profusely, not meeting each other’s gaze. They had been caught up in the heat of the moment and acted without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” Germany apologized.

“No, I’m sorry, I started it.” Italy finally looked at Germany. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he remarked. “Scusa, I mean....” He really was just digging himself a hole here wasn’t he. The truth was that he did have feelings for Germany, but was still too scared to admit it.

“So are you,” Germany replied, blushing even darker. He felt like he might faint from all the blood rushing to his face. Should he just admit his feelings for real this time? They had just shared their first kiss after all, albeit a brief one.

“Germany, I-I really, I really, that is to say,” Italy was struggling to get the three little words out. The fear was still holding him back. What if Germany had only kissed him back as an involuntary action? What if he was repulsed by him?

“I love you, Italy.” Germany had beaten him to it. This time he really, truly meant it.

Italy took a deep breath, clutching his pounding chest, and finally spat it out. “I love you too, Germany.”

Germany leaned in towards Italy, taking his chin in his hand. “Can we try that again?” He looked down, embarrassed. “The truth is that’s the first time I’ve ever kissed anyone and I have no idea how to.”

“Really, you’ve never kissed anyone before?” While Italy had never actually had sex before, what happened with Russia notwithstanding, he’d kissed quite a few people.

“Ja, never.” Germany was acting like a bashful young boy and Italy couldn’t help but find it kind of endearing. “I’m also a virgin.” He looked away, letting Italy’s chin go. His eyes widened as he quickly added, “Not that I want to have sex with you right now, I know you’re not ready. Not that you’re ugly or anything, but--”

Italy put his hand over Germany’s mouth so the flustered man would stop having diarrhea of the mouth. “I get it, you can stop now. And sì, we can try that again.” Italy was glad that Germany actually wanted to kiss him, that he wasn’t repulsed or disgusted with him at all. He also seemed to be fine with just kissing and going no further. Italy really wasn’t ready for anything more intimate than that.

They spent the next while exploring each other’s mouths and getting closer than ever before.

***

America hadn’t left his house in two days. He had hidden inside as soon as he got home from Siberia. Prussia was temporarily holding Russia at an undisclosed area he wouldn’t even tell America and Romano the exact location. Prussia was watching him himself until they figured out what to do with the psycho rapist bastard.

He had turned his phone off and had been lying in bed most of the time. He was supposed to be the hero. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be incapable of being hurt, but here he was, feeling like a weak loser, in pain.

He still hadn’t shed a single tear. He still couldn’t bring himself to. He was almost in denial that it even happened; until he tried to move and throbbing pain shot through his backside again. He wanted to punch something, to scream, to do something to vent all this agony and frustration.

Suddenly he heard the front door opening and footsteps sounding down the hall. He reached for the handgun he kept in the nightstand and clutched it tightly, forcing himself painfully out of bed, pointing the gun at the bedroom door. If some creep was coming for him, they’d be full of holes before they got near him.

The door slowly opened.

“So this is where you’ve holed yourself up. What, don’t shoot, eh?!” Canada put his hands up, freezing in place when he saw his brother had a gun on him. America really needed to calm down with his guns.

When America saw that it was only Canada, and not some kind of ax murderer, he put the gun away. “Sorry, bro.”

“It’s okay, just be careful where you point that thing. You wouldn’t answer your phone, so since you gave me that spare key, I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.” Canada took a step towards America, less fearful now that a gun wasn’t being aimed at him. Now that he was closer, he saw that America looked haggard. Had he slept or ate at all the last few days?

America was quiet, which was pretty odd since usually anyone was hard pressed to get him to shut up. “I’ve been better,” he muttered half-heartedly.

“Did something happen?” He didn’t know the details, but he heard that America was on some kind of secret mission.

His twin wouldn’t meet his eyes. He flopped down on the bed, pulling the covers over himself and turning his back to Canada. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“No. As your brother it’s my job to smack you when you’re being an insufferable ass, eh.” Canada sat down next to America and gave him a light whack on the back. He didn’t expect America to react by practically attacking him.

“Don’t touch me, Matthew!” America had flipped over and pinned his brother to the bed, his hands around his throat, squeezing the breath out of him.

Canada clawed at America’s hands, he was a lot stronger than he generally showed, and he managed to rip the hands off. “Alfred, what the hell?!” he gasped out.

America was shaking, looking down at his own hands, realizing what he had done. “I’m sorry, bro, I didn’t mean…” He finally let a tear slip out and run down his face. “I’m so sorry.” He turned away from Canada again and started sobbing uncontrollably. It was like a floodgate had been opened and he cried in earnest. He grabbed either side of his head and let out a scream.

Canada was almost scared to touch his brother after he had tried to strangle him to death, but he must have been through something awful that had been bottled up until it popped open. He tentatively reached out a hand and touched his arm. “What happened?”

America was still crying. It took a few minutes before he stopped. He needed to tell someone, and Canada was his own brother. He’d understand, right? “You can’t tell like anyone about this, okay? God, I feel like a narrator always explaining shit.” He went on to tell his brother all about what happened in Siberia; about finding Russia, being gassed, and how he’d tried to rape Romano but America had offered himself instead, and finally how Romano had killed Russia.

Of all the things that could have happened to America to upset him so much, Canada never expected him to tell him that he had been raped by Russia, just as Italy was. He really didn’t know what to say, so he just reached out and wrapped his brother in a hug, holding him close.

At first America struggled against the close contact, but soon he settled down, letting himself be held. “I’m so weak…”

“No, you’re not.” Canada stroked his hair, his hold on America loosening.

America turned over so he was facing his brother. “But I just let him do it. I’m just a dumb slut.”

“No, you’re not,” Canada repeated himself. “Like you said, you did it to save Romano. You were a hero. And the gas made you too weak to stop Russia from doing...what he did.”

“Just say it, he fucking raped me,” America spat out. He reached up to adjust his glasses out of habit, forgetting that they were broken and he didn’t have them anymore.

“I was trying to be a bit more delicate than that, Alfred.”

“Don’t bother,” America huffed. He was still quite angry.

Canada pulled him in for another hug, pressing himself chest to chest with his twin. “I’m sorry, Alfred. I really, truly am. If I could just take all your pain away I would.”

“Matthew…” America wanted to stay angry. He wanted to make someone pay for how he was feeling, but his gentle brother was starting to calm him down. He sighed, wrapping his arms around Canada, and started to cry again.

Canada ignored the tears streaming down his own face as he held his brother tight, a feeling of helplessness welling up inside of him. First Italy had been hurt on Canada's land, and now Canada had failed to be there to help his own brother--though he knew everything had been out of his control, he still wished that there was something he could have done to stop them both from being hurt so cruelly.

Unfortunately, he knew that reality wasn't kind enough to grant such a wish, not when the damage was already done.

All Canada could do was continue to hold his sobbing brother in his arms as he silently vowed to support him however he could, so America wouldn't have to suffer through his pain and trauma alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poveglia is a real place, and guess what, it's for sale right now!
> 
> Only I could make disgusting ways to make cheese turn into a first kiss. I never said I could write romance pfft.


	6. Chapter 6

Italy and Germany were sitting on the couch, playing with the dogs and just casually talking, when the front doorbell rang.

“Who could that be? Were you expecting someone, Germany?” Italy asked, rising from his seat to answer the door. The terrier jumped off the couch with him and stayed by his heels.

“Nein, no one’s come to visit in a very long time.” Germany followed Italy, cautious of strangers getting near, but also curious to see who it could be. No one had visited him since last year, since before this whole mess started.

Italy opened the door to find Prussia, Canada, America, and his brother Romano standing outside. “Ciao,” he greeted quietly, not really sure how to react to all the people suddenly staring at him.

He hadn’t seen any of them in several weeks, not since the trial to decide how to sentence Russia. It had been very hard on Italy. He really didn’t want to, but he had testified against Russia in the courtroom. Which forced him to tell a room full of both strangers and also his friends and family all about what Russia had done to him. He had to stop and start over several times, trembling in terror all the while, before he managed to muster enough courage to get the entire story out. After he left the stand he had sat down next to Germany and not let go of his hand for the rest of the proceedings, holding it in a vice grip.

America had testified himself as a witness to the crime, having to hold back from cursing Russia to the depths of Hell. Unfortunately, since the Russian government wouldn’t even acknowledge that any of them had been in Russia, they couldn’t prove that he had raped America as well, and couldn’t press charges for that crime. Canada had stepped up and offered his own country, as a third party nation and where Russia first spilled blood, to hold the trial and detain Russia.

As it would be impossible to execute Russia, both because he was immortal and because the death penalty had been abolished in Canada, and imprisonment would be very pointless, they let Italy choose what was to be done with him. How could you punish the personification of an entire country? Everyone thought Italy would pick some horrible punishment for Russia’s heinous crimes, but he didn’t. Italy was a very kind soul at heart that just wanted everyone to be happy. He could see that there was something severely wrong with Russia and chose to try to help him instead. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth just wouldn’t cut it. You had to choose to forgive. To move on. To try to change the world for the better. The only way to do that was to show some compassion, and maybe, just maybe, it would get through and make a difference.

Russia was sent to a highly secured rehabilitation center where he couldn’t hurt anyone else and underwent mandatory therapy. His therapist would likely need therapy if they managed to get him to actually talk about all the things that had happened to him and that he had done in his very long life.

Italy really hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to any of the other countries while at the trial. He was too shaken by having to relive his trauma by telling his story that he and Germany had left immediately afterwards. He also wasn’t really sure he could face them after finally making public what had happened. He was still ashamed about the whole thing, that would probably never change.

“Hello, Italy, may we come in?” Canada asked politely.

“Technically, it's Germany’s house,” Italy replied, stepping back inside the house. He wanted to hide. He wasn’t sure he could handle all the extra people right now.

“Guten Tag, what brings all of you here?” Germany stepped forward. Normally he’d invite them in, but he could see how nervous Italy was and didn’t want to do anything to upset him.

Romano didn’t pay any attention to Germany and stepped past him into the house and after his brother. He pulled his younger sibling into a hug and starting talking to him rapidly in Italian. Germany didn’t stop him when he saw that he only wanted to see his brother.

“Can I talk to you in private, eh?” Canada asked and Germany agreed and the two of them stepped out into the backyard, away from the others. “I think America and Italy need to talk. I know it will be hard for them, but since they’ve both been through the same thing, it might help to know that they’re not alone.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Germany was confused. Had something happened to America as well?

Canada slapped a hand over his mouth. He really wasn’t supposed to tell anyone what happened to his brother, but he had kind of assumed that Germany would have heard about it. He forgot that their mission was a secret and the only ones who knew were himself, America, Prussia, and Romano. He’d thought Prussia or Romano wouldn’t have been able to keep from telling anyone, but it looked like he was the first one to spread the word. Germany had also been very secluded from everyone else for the last six months, taking care of Italy.

Now that the cat was out of the bag he couldn’t stuff it back in. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, America will throttle me if he finds out I told anyone, but you know how they found Russia? Well, before they captured him, he gassed Prussia, Romano, and America. They were knocked out and severely weakened. Russia thought he’d have some fun with them and tried to rape Romano. America stepped in and saved him, offered himself instead, and Russia raped him.” Canada looked down at his feet and then back up to Germany’s face. “He’s making a brave front of it, but he’s far more shaken up then he’s letting on.”

Germany’s face contorted in anger and he slammed his fist into the nearest tree, causing it to sway back and forth violently. “How many times is that bastard going to…” He let out a feral scream that made everyone run to the backyard to see who was being murdered.

“Wow, West, what happened?!” Prussia asked in alarm, seeing that Germany’s hand was bleeding.

“I see that the younger potato bastard has gone insane,” Romano remarked as he ran out the back door to see what the screaming was about. He had a pretty good idea that Canada had told Germany the reason they were here and what had happened to America. It had obviously upset him and he’d taken his anger out on the poor tree.

They hadn’t told America the real reason they came to Germany’s house. They just said they were visiting Italy, which, while also true, wasn’t the whole truth. America wasn’t himself at all. He was very quiet, and only spoke if you asked him a direct question. They had all showed up at his house, Romano handed him his glasses that he’d had fixed, and dragged him off to Germany.

“Germany, are you okay? You’re bleeding!” Italy had peeked out from behind Romano and seen that no one was apparently being murdered, but Germany was injured. He grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him inside the house to wash and bandage his wound.

Germany had only torn a few layers of skin off the knuckles of his right hand, so he wasn’t seriously injured, but he was still bleeding and needed bandages. Prussia had followed them inside the house and was lingering near the bathroom. Once Italy had finished tending to Germany, he came up behind Germany and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “So have you two done it yet?” Prussia asked in German, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Italy and Germany were together.

“I will kill you with my bare hands!” Germany shouted in German, chasing his brother down the hall when he started to run away, blushing bright red in embarrassment.

Italy only had a vague idea of what they had said and was left confused. He thought it best to just leave the two brothers alone to figure out whatever it was that they were arguing about. He thought better of it though when he heard a high-pitched screech and went to go see what was wrong.

He found Germany sitting on Prussia in the middle of the hall, looking very disgruntled, while Prussia squirmed and complained under him. Italy had to smile a little; it was unusual to see Germany acting so childishly with his brother.

“You should probably get off of him, I know how heavy you are,” Italy recommended, remembering the few times Germany had rolled over in his sleep and squashed him.

“Oh, hoho, so you have-” Prussia smirked and let out a laugh even though he was having trouble breathing. Germany was all muscle and really was quite heavy.

“Shut up, Gilbert!” Germany elbowed his brother in the ribs.

“Ouch! Okay, okay, I give! Uncle! Get off me, you big lummox!”

“Only if you promise to stop being an ass. And if you so much as think about pestering Italy I will literally throw you outside,” Germany warned. It was the whole reason he’d kicked Prussia out six months ago; he didn’t know when to quit.

“Okay, fine. You’re no fun.” Prussia rubbed his sore back once Germany got off him. “And I think you’ve let Italy feed you too much pasta, you’ve definitely gained weight.”

“You come into my house uninvited and now you’re calling me fat?” Germany looked down at his stomach, maybe he had gained a few pounds, he hadn’t had time to exercise much.

“Speaking of food, I’m hungry, what do you have to eat around here?” Prussia started towards the kitchen. “I hope you have potatoes, we need some good tasty spuds.”

“We are not having any shitty potatoes! We're having _pasta_!” Romano and the North American brothers had wandered inside the house to see what was happening and Romano had overheard Prussia. “Veneziano, you better have stocked this kitchen right!” He started after Prussia into the kitchen.

“Should we stop them before they start World War III?” Italy asked, amused by his brother and Germany’s brother’s antics. He had forgotten how lively and interesting it could be to have others in the house.

“Or we could just let them cook for us, they did just barge in unannounced. Who knows, they might make something good,” Germany suggested. “Let’s just make sure they don’t light everything on fire or kill each other.”

***

Prussia and Romano managed to somehow not kill each other or set anything on fire, and they served dinner for all six of the countries. They, of course, couldn’t settle on just one thing and had made a variety of different dishes, both Italian and German.

They had made a small feast, but with the serious nature of their visit the only ones who were eating with any gusto were Prussia and Romano. The other four ate, but much slower and not nearly as much.

“I’m really tired, dudes. Hey, Germany, can I stay the night here?” America asked once everyone was done eating. He really didn’t know why he had been dragged off to Germany, but he lacked his normal energy and just wanted to sleep.

“May I stay over as well, eh?” Canada could see that now would be a bad time to bring up Italy and America talking to each other, America was far too tired. He could also see that Italy was starting to droop and yawn. It would be better to wait until tomorrow.

“Ooh, it’d be like a sleepover!” Italy exclaimed, clapping his hands together happily. Once he had gotten used to the extra people, he was starting to come out of his shell and brighten back up.

“But I only have three beds, and there are six of us,” Germany said, slightly worried that he was being a bad host.

“We’re three sets of brothers, we can just share,” Canada suggested.

“I’m not sleeping with my fratello, he farts in his sleep!” Romano crossed his arms over his chest. It was really an excuse, he knew how close Germany and Italy were, and while he didn’t exactly approve of his brother being with a stupid potato-eating German he could see that Italy was much better for being with him and didn’t want to split them up.

“I’m fine with sharing with America,” Canada said. “That okay with you?” he asked his brother, who was just at that moment yawning widely.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. That works.” America didn’t really care as long as he got to sleep soon.

“Well then America and Canada can have Italy’s bed, Romano can have Prussia’s bed, and Prussia,” Germany turned to his brother with a slight smirk, “can sleep on the couch.”

“Shit, why am I the only one who has to sleep on the couch?!” Prussia complained. It was obvious Germany was still peeved with him. “I’ll just sleep with the stupid tomato bastard.”

“I’d rather die,” Romano said flatly, glaring at Prussia.

Germany quickly changed out the sheets on the beds and they all split up for the night. He gave Prussia a blanket and a pillow and a stern warning not to bother anyone else before going to join Italy in his own bed.

***

Several hours passed and all was quiet in the house, everyone drifting off to sleep. Everyone except Prussia. He was still annoyed that his brother was picking on him and making him sleep on the couch. Now that he stopped and thought about it though he could understand why Germany was upset with him. He had been rather annoying, pestering Italy so much. He had ignored the terror in Italy’s eyes, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Despite understanding why he'd been banished to the couch, however, the fact remained that it was ridiculously uncomfortable and not meant to sleep on--and so he carefully got up with the intent to sneak into his own room. Germany had only let him quickly pack a few things before kicking him out, so most of his stuff was still there. Peering through the dark, he was mildly surprised to find that it looked like Germany hadn’t touched any of it and it was all exactly as he had left it.

Romano was sleeping soundly in his bed and Prussia very slowly and carefully lifted the covers to slip under them. He let out a silent sigh of relief when it seemed that the action hadn’t woken the other man.

“I had a feeling you were going to try some crapola like this,” Romano said, opening one eye. He had been sleeping quite lightly and heard Prussia open the door, only pretending to be asleep. “You’re not going to molest me in my sleep or anything, are you?”

“Ew gross, nein. This is my bed, dammit, and West’s couch sucks ass to sleep on.”

Romano was too tired to argue and took pity on the man. “Ugh, fine, just keep your pale ass over there on that side and don’t touch me.”

“Danke,” Prussia thanked Romano, expecting to have to fight him to get him to give in.

“You’re not welcome.”

“Gute Nacht.”

“...Buona notte.”

***

After having breakfast together the next morning, Canada suggested to everyone save for Italy and America that they should go out for a walk. The two were left alone together, awkwardly staring at each other, not entirely sure what they were supposed to do.

“So, how’ve you been?” Italy asked to break the silence. He didn’t have a clue about what had happened to America. He’d noticed that the normally cheerful nation was very subdued, but he’d just accounted it to him being tired from traveling.

“I, well… I’ve been better,” America replied sadly. Did his brother plan this? Was he intentionally leaving him with Italy so they’d have a heart to heart about both being raped by Russia? He didn’t know if he wanted to talk about it. He’d rather pretend it never happened and just bury it.

“Did something happen? Did that boss of yours do something incredibly stupid again?” Italy sat down on the couch.

“Well, yes, but that’s just normal at this point. It’s… something else.” America joined Italy on the couch, looking across it at him, wondering if he should just tell Italy. Maybe talking to someone who’d been through the same thing would help, at least a little bit. They could at least commiserate.

“What is it? Maybe I can help.” Italy placed a hand on America’s shoulder, looking concerned.

America flinched a little at the touch, so far the only person he’d let touch him was Canada. It was frightening to let anyone else get close to him. He’d deny it, but he was still very much on edge. He didn’t trust anyone to not hurt him.

Italy felt America back away and instantly removed him hand. “I’m sorry…” He moved to stand from the couch.

“Wait, don’t go. It’s not you, it’s just me being dumb.” America put a hand to his face, narrowly avoiding smudging his glasses. “You’re probably like the only one who’d understand…”

“Understand what?” Italy was starting to get scared. America was dropping enough hints that he was starting to get a picture of what he wasn’t saying. “Did… did… what happened to me, happen to you?” He was trembling now, tightly gripping one of the pillows on the couch.

America looked away, pretending to be very interested in a random picture of a dog hanging on Germany’s wall. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding before replying. “Yes.”

Italy paled, his heart rate picking up as he felt he was going to be sick. “Was it… was it Russia too?”

“Yes.”

Tears started flowing down Italy’s face. “I’m so sorry!” He went to hug America, but paused at the last second, not wanting to scare him.

America reached out and completed the hug, pulling the smaller nation to his chest in a tight bear hug. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I saw Russia in the act, hurting you, but I couldn’t stop him.” Tears were flowing down his face as well now.

Italy wrapped his arms around the blond, gasping for breath at just how strong he was. “I can’t breath, America.”

“Oh, sorry little dude.” America let Italy go and sat back. “I guess we’re supposed to talk about our feelings and shit now?”

“Sì, I suppose. It was… horrible. I’m not sure I can talk about it again, after telling that whole courtroom.” Italy looked down at his hands, they were shaking.

“I’m not sure you want to hear about what he did to me either. I don’t want to trigger you or anything.”

A fresh batch of tears came pouring out of Italy and he hugged America again. “It’s just so terrible. What caused Russia to do that to us? I’m so scared all the time, scared someone might hurt me again. I’m even scared of Germany sometimes. I’m a mess.” He buried his face in America’s broad chest, sobbing loudly.

“Same, dude, same,” America agreed softly, patting Italy’s back, still crying. He shared all the same feelings that Italy had, he was just much worse at actually admitting them. Toxic American masculinity had taught him that to be a man he had to hide his feelings, push them down and never admit them. He was slowly coming to terms with how truly harmful that was and was trying to change.

“You know, if you ever need to talk you can always call me,” Italy said, looking up at America through his tears.

“Same, you can call me too, dude.”

They held each other for a long few moments, lost in their own thoughts. It was true, just letting out how they truly felt was like lifting a weight off their chests. Sharing the burden was much lighter.

The front door opened and the others came back from their walk. Prussia was carrying a large pail of strawberry ice cream he’d purchased from a local farm. He plopped it down noisily on the coffee table in front of America and Italy. “It looks like you could use some ice cream.” He grabbed two spoons from the kitchen and handed one each to the two tearful countries.

America and Italy scooted together to the middle of the couch, Canada sat on America’s right side, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulder. Germany sat on Italy’s left side, placing his uninjured left hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Romano leaned over the back of the couch and hooked his left arm around his brother’s neck, sticking both his middle fingers out and scowling broadly, daring anyone to even try to hurt his little brother. Prussia stood behind the couch, smirking in amusement.

America and Italy, with tears still lingering in their eyes, lifted their spoons to dig into the delicious looking ice cream. They were probably going to become quite sick by eating the entire pail themselves, but they really didn’t care right now. They deserved to just stuff themselves silly with ice cream after everything they had been through.

It would still take time for things to go back to normal, and they would still carry the scars forever, but maybe all you really needed on the road to recovery was friends and family who truly cared about, loved you, and supported you along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, my first fic in five years and my first Hetalia fic, officially complete. I know the ending is kinda cheesy, but I really wanted to give the boys a happy ending after all the crap I put them through. I even went a little overboard and drew a picture to go with it.


End file.
